Truths
by Firefly Alchemist
Summary: Post-Deception, Obi-Wan comes to Satine's palace in Sundari to tell her that he's not actually dead. Needless to say, Satine is far from happy with the deception and various truths are revealed.


**A/N Here's the necessary post-Deception Obi-Wan telling Satine he's not dead fic. It's a little angsty (I swear, I don't normally write angst but something about Star Wars just brings it out in me) but also fluff at the same time? I don't know. Anyway, please enjoy.**

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A week after Satine attended Obi-Wan's funeral, Padmé calls to inform her that it isn't true—Obi-Wan is very much alive. It had been a lie engineered by the Jedi council to foil an attempt on the Chancellor's life.

Six days after that, Obi-Wan himself arrives at her palace in Sundari, as she knew he would.

He enters her chamber quietly, his soft footfalls nearly escaping her notice, but a lifetime of avoiding assassination attempts has left her with a keen ear. The fact that he wasn't announced strongly implies that he slipped past her guards. Satine sighs and makes a mental note to upgrade the palace's security system, though a part of her is glad that he's chosen to keep this encounter as private as possible.

He stops a couple of feet from her desk.

She doesn't bother to look up from the papers she's focused on. She can hear him shuffle, shifting his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. Well, she has nothing to say and she doesn't feel particularly inclined to help him out. If he wants to talk to her, he'll have to start.

Finally, he speaks. "Satine." Her name is soft on his lips, halting and almost hesitant.

"Master Jedi." Her own voice is curt, but she spares a glance in his direction. She is mildly surprised to discover that his beard is missing, as is most of his hair. Only a light auburn fuzz covers his head. Undoubtedly, his hair is just another victim of the mission—collateral damage if you will. She looks away quickly.

There is quiet once again and to Satine, the spacious chamber suddenly feels cramped and heavy with unspoken words. Despite her previous resolution to make him speak for himself, she finds she can't stand the oppressive silence. "I was expecting you."

He winces, understanding the implication of her words. His mission has been over for almost a week and he is just appearing now. "I suppose Padmé, er, informed you of the situation."

"She did." Satine has gone back to sorting papers on her desk. The words are blurred, and the piles she puts them in senseless, but the action grounds her—keeps her focus on something besides him.

"I'm sorry." He takes a step forward, and reaches out for her hands, but she moves them away, bringing them to rest gently in her lap.

"For what? You were merely doing your duty." The words are cut with a cruelty that Satine hadn't intended but doesn't quite regret either.

"Would you at least look at me?"

He is kneeling beside her chair now, his hands perched on the armrest. He makes no move to touch her again.

Before she knows what she's doing, she's pushed away from the desk and stands up. She walks towards the balcony, away from him.

"Satine—"

"I accept." It's a beautiful evening, and doors to the outside are open. She steps out onto the veranda.

"What?" Behind her, she hears his boots scraping against the floor as he stands up.

She can't turn around. She can't look at him. instead she gazes out onto the streets of Sundari. "I accept your apology." Darkness is falling and below, the courtyard is almost empty. "You can go now."

"I'm not going anywhere until we talk about this like civilized adults." His words are still calm, but she can hear the defensiveness beneath them.

"What do you want from me, Ben?" She asks, whirling to face him, previous hesitation forgotten. She doesn't notice that she called him by the pet name she used to, many years ago, when they were still young and the galaxy didn't feel quite so big or its problems quite so insurmountable.

He has joined her on the balcony. "I know you're angry. I can sense it."

Now that she's facing at him, she can't look away. His grayish-blue eyes have a way of drawing her in and not letting go. They always have, since he was just a bumbling padawan. They may have her trapped, but they do nothing to calm the fire brewing in the pit of her stomach. "Would you like me to express it, Obi-Wan?" She asks savagely. "Would you like me to yell and rage so you can slip back into the cool facade of the Master Jedi? Would that make it better?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You want me to feel so you don't have to!" She pauses, but starts speaking again before he can offer up a retort "Well too bad. I'm sure you got enough of that from Anakin."

"I just want you to tell me the truth!" For the first time he sounds frustrated. He takes a step towards her.

"The truth!" she cries. "That's awfully rich, coming from you."

"It was a mission—"

"And you were just doing your duty," she finishes for him. "I know."

"Satine—"

"I thought you were dead, Obi-Wan!" She can feel the tears pricking at her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. She won't give him the satisfaction. "Dead. Try to understand that."

He swallows. "I couldn't tell anyone, Satine. It would have endangered the mission and put the Chancellor's life at further risk."

"Don't give me that bantha shit! Don't you dare explain it to me like I'm an acquaintance or… or a padawan!" she says. Quietly, she adds: "I cried for you—mourned you."

He looks away. His next words are mumbled, like he knows they're a bad idea but must say them anyway. "It never occurred to me that you'd be there," he pauses, licking his lips. "At the funeral I mean."

Her eyes flash, and almost of its own accord her hand whips back in order to slap him. It hovers in midair for a moment, before falling heavily back down to her side.

Satine sags against railing of the balcony and Obi-Wan takes a step forward, hands outstretched like he's ready to catch her in case she falls. It occurs to her that she ought to be offended; he thinks her so helpless that she'll go tumbling over the ledge, but she is too exhausted to feel much of anything. Her anger has slipped away and left an intense weariness in its place. "You know Obi-Wan, sometimes I understand why the Jedi forbid attachments."

He looks as if she did slap him, a face she might find amusing in some other circumstance.

Her gaze drops down to her hand. "I have faced assassins, terrorists, bounty hunters, all of whom who want nothing more than to kill me and destroy everything I've built." She pauses, knowing the next words will hurt him, but continues anyway. "Yet it's you who makes me want to betray my ideals."

She walks past him, back into the room. It seems rather cold and barren compared to the balcony. He follows, and she softly shuts the doors behind him. "I'll tell you the truth if you'll do the same for me."

He looks up, and she can see the hurt reflected in his eyes. He gives her a curt nod.

"All right." She hesitates for a moment, wondering what her truth is. "I missed Qui-Gon's funeral," she finally says. Her words are thick with emotion and she can't quite meet his eyes. "There's not a force in the galaxy that could keep me from yours."

He steps closer to her, and his fingers reach for her chin, pushing it up lightly so she's looking at him. "I am truly sorry for the pain I've caused you."

She smiles, but there's a sadness to it. "Is that the truth?" she asks, her tone joking.

"It is a truth," he answers gravely, his thumb gently stroking her chin. "But it is not the truth I intend to tell."

"What-" She starts, but before she can finish, he leans down and kisses her. It's soft, and quick; after a moment, she feels him pulling away. Her eyes closed, she leans into his chest, her head fitting neatly under his chin.

His hands come up to brush against her blonde hair and he moves her head back, so she can look at him again. Absently, he pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You are not merely an acquaintance," a small smile appears on his face. "Or a padawan."

The words are neither happy or unhappy, merely factual. Satine can sense the shame that accompanies them though. She reaches up a hand and lays it gently against his cheek.

He leans into her touch.

 _I wish my love didn't hurt,_ she thinks, and though she doesn't speak the words aloud, he seems to understand.

They are trapped in an impossible cycle it seems: their love hurting each other, yet neither able to stop loving the other. Satine has no doubt it will continue until they die. Well, until she does: she outlived him once, she has no intention of doing so again.

One hand still pressed against his cheek, she tilts her head back and kisses him once more. It's deeper than the first, neither willing to break away until their breath demands it.

When they finally pull apart, Satine can only think one thing: _you will be the death of me._

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 **A/N ugh I love these two. Everyone please keep writing fics for them; they deserve so much more attention than they get. Anyway, please review/favorite and all that good stuff! Thanks for all the support!**


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